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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – 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 here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply