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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – 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 YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply