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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply