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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with 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 personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply