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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days 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: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply