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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance 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. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply