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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply