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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply