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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; 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 with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – 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 paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply