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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug 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 revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, 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 to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply