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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply