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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply