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

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” 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 in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside 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 character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply