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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including 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 next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply