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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply