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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply