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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply