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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply