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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again 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 must know Cornwall's speech regarding 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 a detailed supplement composed simply