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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! 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 but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply