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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply