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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply