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It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then 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 the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential 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 luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply