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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply