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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

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 from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. 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, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply