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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “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. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “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! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply