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It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic 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 back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply