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It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph 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 felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply