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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes 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 caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply