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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply