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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply