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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply