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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. 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 on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply