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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler 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 Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “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! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from 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