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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply