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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply