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It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply