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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply