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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage 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 way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply