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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply