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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! 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 yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply