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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply