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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply