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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply