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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being 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 kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims 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. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply