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It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, 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: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from 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