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It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply