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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

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 appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply