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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply