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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment 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 by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply