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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – 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 the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply