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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply