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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available 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 recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded 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 potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply