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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected 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 in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. 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's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply