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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply