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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply