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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply