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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply