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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply