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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor 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 – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred 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, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply