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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward 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 his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply