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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply