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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, 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 direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply