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It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply