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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes 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!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply