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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply