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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply