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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply