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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply