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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up 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 Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived 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 Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, 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: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply