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It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply