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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply