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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe 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 burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply