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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged 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 cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply