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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply