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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day 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 he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. 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 by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply