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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers 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 in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb 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 driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, 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: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King 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