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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! 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 but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply