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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years 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 later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply