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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply