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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply