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It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in 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 the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply