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It stands as the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply