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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. 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 in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply