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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator 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 a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply