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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply