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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, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, 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 in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply