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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply