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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply