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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth 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 despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply