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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. 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 Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply