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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” 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 his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply