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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker 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! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply