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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential 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 luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply