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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply