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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates 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 appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting 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, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply