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It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply