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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again 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 classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply