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Many consider it the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant 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 a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem 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. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply