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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply