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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply