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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed 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 the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again 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 must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply