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It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant 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 Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply