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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply