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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply