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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged 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 successful acting career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply