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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply