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It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. 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 performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know 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!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply