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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. 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 scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious 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! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply