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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply