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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply