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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully 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 displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, 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 in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply