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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day 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 amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character 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 successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply