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Many consider it the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor 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 confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “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! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply