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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! 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 someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply