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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply