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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply