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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious 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 shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal 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 next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply