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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back 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, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again 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 went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply