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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply