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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. 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 Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply