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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's 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 so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply