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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply