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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains 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 in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed 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 burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply