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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform 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 Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply