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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply