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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into 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 disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply