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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply