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It stands as the most memorable introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply