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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo 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 appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “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 maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply