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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

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 an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant 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.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply