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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

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 appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply