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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer 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 facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply