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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply