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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply