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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply