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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply