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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply