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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. 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 renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply