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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply