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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with 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 is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply