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It stands as the greatest entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield 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 poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply