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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply