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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of 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 an extensive addendum composed simply