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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler 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 memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply