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It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise 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 exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays 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 get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply