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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply