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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply