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It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply