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It stands as the most memorable introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor 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: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply