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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply