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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply