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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to 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 chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply