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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply