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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the 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 a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply