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It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into 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 financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed 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.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply