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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of 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 Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again 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 from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply