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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller 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 recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply