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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought 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 in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get 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! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply