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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply