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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply