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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply