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

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply