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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply