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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply