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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply