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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply