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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply