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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious 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 begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply