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It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, 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 drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply