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

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But 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 stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply