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

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply