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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader 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 painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth 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 at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued 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 financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. 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 the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply