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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply