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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences 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 boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. 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 wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins 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