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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply