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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – 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 roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply