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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply