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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! 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 an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply