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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply