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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply