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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply