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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting 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.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged 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 on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply