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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. 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 retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply