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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. 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. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply