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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply