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It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, 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 on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply