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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

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 a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply