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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, 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 highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply