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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply