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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend 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 deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply