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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply