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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically 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 talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that 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 came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply