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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply