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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply