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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. 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. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply