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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

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 kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply