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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly 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 having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply