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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply