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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again 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. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply