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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. 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 Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply