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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “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 time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply