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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur 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 didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside 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 calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply