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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay 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 roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply