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It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “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 humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply