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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply