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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply