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

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply