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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply