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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – 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 standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply