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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply