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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success 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, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, 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: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply