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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply