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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates 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 felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student 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 his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. 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. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply