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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being 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 boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply