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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply