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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply