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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply