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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply