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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture 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, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. 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 went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply