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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought 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 in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply