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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker 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 an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply