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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply