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It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply