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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply