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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply