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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

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 was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up 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, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply