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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the 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 with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply