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It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply