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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence 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 to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply