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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor 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 of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply