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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply