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It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply