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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away 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 couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay 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 Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells 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! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply