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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply