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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived 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 felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply