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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected 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 luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply