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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members 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 exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply