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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply