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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply