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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply