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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply