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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach 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 subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being 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 was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring 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. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply