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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply