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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic 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 resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure 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! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply