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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply