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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply