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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film 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 his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply