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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph 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, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply