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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply