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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply