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It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? 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 tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply