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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “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! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply