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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply