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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela 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 paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being 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, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude 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! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply