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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply