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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes 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, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply