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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during 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 stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply