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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph 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 hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply