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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply