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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed 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 in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, 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 Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply