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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes 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 appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply