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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply