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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's 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 father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply