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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply