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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie 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. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. 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.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply