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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! 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 someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply