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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, 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 icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply