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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply