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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader 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 painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply