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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, 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 alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. 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 went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply