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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply