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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply