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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members 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 while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that 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 Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply