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It stands as the greatest entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply