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It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – 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 Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply