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It stands as the most memorable introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know 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