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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; 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 theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply