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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply