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It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected 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 in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply