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It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse 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 memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply