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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment 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 being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply