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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply