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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply