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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like 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. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

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 would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! 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 a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply