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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that 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 went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply