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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson 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 students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play 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