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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply