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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor 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? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply