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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first 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 Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply