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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply