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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply