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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available 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 perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply