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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply