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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply