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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply