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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply