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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite 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 poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied 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 lengthy appendix composed simply