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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential 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 luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply