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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply