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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply