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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down 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 exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply