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

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply