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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply