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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply