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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. 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. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply