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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply