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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply