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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply