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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply