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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences 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 kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply