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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply