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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply