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It stands as the greatest entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply