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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged 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 on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply