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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply