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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply