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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from 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 moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, 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 his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply