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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells 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 around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply