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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply