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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply