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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher 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 without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son 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, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day 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 personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play 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