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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply