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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, 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 Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply