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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply