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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply