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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that 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 back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply