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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply