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It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes 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 felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied 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!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply