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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims 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. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply