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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences 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 boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply