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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply