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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker 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 a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply