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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply