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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply