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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply