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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays 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. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences 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 boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! 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 came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply