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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply