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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward 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.

During the second part 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 Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply