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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, 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 for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply