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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply