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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply