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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went 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!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply