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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply