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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply