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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie 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 shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply