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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal 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 be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply