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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions 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 effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply