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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring 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. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply