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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – 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 Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply