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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply