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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences 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 felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply