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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply