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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply