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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – 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 parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply