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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply