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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls 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 instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply