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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

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, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, 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 poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply