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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward 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 his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply