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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply