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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply