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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply