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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. 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 stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply