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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply