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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – 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, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply