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It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph 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, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply