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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way 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 during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply