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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' 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, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company 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 the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, 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 Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, 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 Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply