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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply