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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply