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It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply