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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

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 would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply