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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply