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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel 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 cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply