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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to 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, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply