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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role 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 in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply