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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, 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 with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh 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 pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available 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 recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way 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 classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply