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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply