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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply