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It stands as the greatest entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply