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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including 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 second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply