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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply