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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – 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 in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply