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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived 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, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know 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 a detailed supplement composed simply