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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived 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 was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then 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 Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply