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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply