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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived 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, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply