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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by 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 was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply