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It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply