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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up 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 Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply