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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes 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 appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply