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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply