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It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited 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 within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply