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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! 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 an individual who stopped drinking 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 does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply