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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. 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. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply