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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply