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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply