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

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. 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, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply