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It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply