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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant 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 studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply