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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply