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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

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, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply