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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply