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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found 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 thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply