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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

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 get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! 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 accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply