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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss 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 mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply