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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply