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It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, 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 latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply