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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success 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 Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company 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 roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply