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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply