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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply