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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King 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