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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply