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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply