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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to 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. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply