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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply