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

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply