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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply