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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply