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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film 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, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. 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 retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise 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 possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply