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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, 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 radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply