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It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply