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It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

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 stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again 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 Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply