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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn 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. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply