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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply