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Many consider it the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply