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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as 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 facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply