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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply