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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to 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 criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply