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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher 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 subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply