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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English 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 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 performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply