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It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply