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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall 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