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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply