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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply