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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “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 a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply