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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated 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 his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's 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 father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply