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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply