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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply