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It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply