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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply