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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply