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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected 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 thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years 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 next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply