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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply