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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during 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 reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply