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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential 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 in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply