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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply