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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences 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 couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. 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 went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply