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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply