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It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial 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 Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply