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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry 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 must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply