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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

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 John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply