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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling 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: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply