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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply