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It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “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 went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply