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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply