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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply