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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed 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 regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins 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 here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply