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It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged 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 to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply