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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, 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 perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, 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: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply