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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem 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, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply