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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply