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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “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 at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. 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 left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply