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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way 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 came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply