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

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend 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, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply