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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply