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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by 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 child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity 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, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply