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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members 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 raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply