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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply