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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected 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 thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply