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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: 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, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply