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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply