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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way 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 his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – 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 the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply