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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – 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 standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply