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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. 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 steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply