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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, 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 perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! 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 someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply