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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre 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 led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply