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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply