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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “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 pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply