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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his 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 drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply