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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up 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, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply