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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply