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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply