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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply