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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter 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 memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply