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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply