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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply