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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply