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Many consider it the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply