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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply