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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter 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 drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply