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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply