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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon 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 thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight 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 grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply