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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply