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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company 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 Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply