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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply