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

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply