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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply