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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “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! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply