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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But 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 shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply