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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply