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It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply