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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply