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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry 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 went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply