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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from 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