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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator 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 with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply