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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into 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 stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply