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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply