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It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with 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 with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply