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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away 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 boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply