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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; 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 drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply