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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

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: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that 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 accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply